Story
Le train de 16h47
Not startedThe station was small and quiet. It was about four-thirty and the late afternoon sun flooded the platform. A few passengers waited on the platform, but the scene remained silent.
Marie sat on a wooden bench, her leather portfolio clutched tightly against her. She had just finished an important job interview. For this position, she had been preparing for weeks. She had wanted it so much.
Her gaze wandered over the tracks stretching before her. The 4:47 train would arrive soon to take her home. But for now, she thought only of the interview.
The questions came back to her memory. Had she answered well? Had she been convincing enough? She remembered the recruiter's first question, the one about her experience. She had spoken clearly, at least she thought so. But then, when she was asked why she wanted this position, did she hesitate too long before answering?
Marie closed her eyes for a moment. She tried not to think too much, but the thoughts kept returning. She thought back to every word, every look from the recruiter, every silence in the conversation.
She opened her eyes and looked at the station clock. Four thirty-five. The train would arrive in twelve minutes. Twelve minutes to wait, to think, to worry.
Her hands still gripped the portfolio. She felt the tension in her shoulders. Her whole body was stiff. She was breathing with difficulty.
The other passengers on the platform talked among themselves or looked at their phones. No one seemed worried. No one seemed to be waiting for something important. Marie felt alone with her thoughts.
She had prepared so much for this interview. She had read articles about the company, she had rehearsed her answers, she had chosen her clothes with care that morning. She had done everything she could. But now, a question haunted her: had it been enough?
Marie sighed softly. She wanted to hope. She wanted to believe that everything had gone well. But the doubt remained, present and heavy.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her bag.
She took the phone out of her bag. On the screen, she saw her sister's name: "Isabelle." Marie hesitated for a moment. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk. But she knew Isabelle was worried about her. She accepted the call.
"Hello?" said Marie.
"Marie! How did it go?" Isabelle's voice was full of hope.
Marie took a deep breath. "I think it went well. The recruiter was interested in my experience. He asked me a lot of questions about my previous work."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" asked Isabelle.
"Yes, I think so." Marie looked at the tracks before her. "But I don't know. There were moments when I was hesitating. I wasn't sure about my answers."
Isabelle remained silent for a moment. "You prepared for this interview for weeks. You knew the company, the position, everything. You did your best, didn't you?"
"Yes, but..." Marie stopped. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling. "I'm afraid I missed something. I'm afraid I said the wrong thing at the wrong time."
"Marie, listen to me," said Isabelle gently. "You can't control what happened. The interview is over. Now, you have to wait. And waiting is hard. I understand."
Marie felt a pressure in her chest. Her sister was right. She couldn't change anything now. But knowing that didn't make the waiting any easier.
"You did everything to succeed," Isabelle continued. "Now, rest. Go home. The result will come when it comes."
"You're right," murmured Marie. "Thank you, Isabelle."
"I'll call you tonight. Take care of yourself."
The call ended. Marie placed the phone on her lap. She felt a little better, but her thoughts remained the same. Her sister's words were kind, but they changed nothing. She still had to wait.
She looked at the clock again. Four forty. The train would arrive in seven minutes.
A few minutes later, a man sat on the bench beside Marie. He must have been about sixty years old. He wore simple clothes and had a folded newspaper under his arm. He looked relaxed, without a care.
Marie noticed his calm demeanor. He looked at the platform with a slight smile. He didn't seem to be waiting for something important. He was just waiting for his train.
"It's nice weather today," said the man.
Marie looked up, surprised. "Pardon?"
"The weather," repeated the man. "It's nice out. It's a beautiful late afternoon."
Marie looked at the sky. The sun was gentle, the clouds light. She hadn't noticed the weather since her arrival at the station.
"Yes, that's true," she replied. Her voice was calmer than before.
"Are you waiting for the 4:47 train?" asked the man.
"Yes."
"Me too. I'm going home after going into town." He smiled. "The trains are often on time here. That's a good thing."
Marie didn't know what to say. She felt a bit embarrassed. But the man didn't seem to expect a long conversation. He was just chatting.
"You look worried," he said gently. "Work? Children? Life?"
Marie was surprised by his direct question. But his voice was kind, without excessive curiosity.
"I had a job interview," she explained. "A position I really want. I'm waiting to know if I'll get it."
The man nodded. "Ah, interviews. They're always stressful. But you know, after the interview, there's nothing more you can do. You've done your part. Now, you just have to wait."
His words resembled Isabelle's. But coming from a stranger, they seemed different. Simpler. More direct.
"That's what my sister told me," admitted Marie.
"She's right," said the man. "The train always arrives in the end. You can't make it come faster by watching the tracks."
Marie looked at the tracks. The man was right. The train would come when it came. The result would come too.
"My name is Pierre," said the man.
"Marie."
"Pleased to meet you, Marie." He stood up slowly. "I'm going to walk a bit before the train. Have a good evening."
"Thank you, Pierre. You too."
Pierre walked away along the platform. He walked slowly, without rushing. Marie watched his silhouette disappear among the other passengers.
She felt strangely lighter. The conversation had lasted only a few minutes. Pierre had given her no answer. But his calm had touched her. He was waiting for his train. He was living his life. And the world continued, even when Marie felt stuck.
She took a deep breath. Her shoulders were less tense. Her hands weren't gripping the portfolio as tightly anymore.
An announcement sounded in the station. The 4:47 train was arriving in two minutes.
While she waited, she thought back to her day. The interview, the questions, the trip to the station, the call with Isabelle, the brief conversation with Pierre. Everything seemed clearer now. She still didn't know if she would get the position. She didn't know what the recruiter thought. She didn't know what awaited her.
But she knew something else. She had done everything she could. She had prepared carefully for the interview. She had answered as best she could. She had been honest and professional. After all that, the result was no longer in her hands.
The train slowly entered the station. The brakes whistled softly. The doors opened.
Marie boarded the train car. She found a seat by the window and sat down. She placed her portfolio on her lap. On the other side of the glass, the platform was still there—the bench where she had waited, the small café, the other passengers waiting for their trains.
The train began to move. Gently, the platform slid backward. Marie watched the station recede.
She didn't know if she would get this position. She didn't know when the phone would ring with the answer. She didn't know if the weeks of preparation had been sufficient.
But she knew she had done her best. She knew she had tried sincerely. She knew she had faced the interview with everything she had.
The train accelerated. Houses and trees rushed past the window. The late afternoon sun still illuminated the landscape.
Marie looked ahead. The answer would come when it came. In the meantime, the train was moving forward. And she was moving forward with it.